where the stars hide their graves
by MorteSangriz
Summary: Sometimes new stars are born from the collapse of others, life from death, order from chaos. Sometimes new stars are born in worlds that once lived in the pages of a book and think upon waking "Oh, shit." Canopa is one such star. Now, if she could actually remember the entire plot instead of just bits and pieces that would be great. (SI/OC) Pairing undecided.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Hey there, I'm back to it again with another SI fic. I have no shame for writing this- well I kinda do, since I don't have an update schdule planned for this. Anyhow, this is just the prologue. You can thank all the Harry Potter Self-Inserts I've read recently for the existence of this fic. Don't forget to let me know what you all think! See you all next time!**_

* * *

 _ **THE DAILY PROPHET**_

 _ **October 25th, 1980**_

 _ **Witch goes out with a bang! Nine dead after household attack.**_

 _ **By: Andy Smugley**_

 _710 Rowena Avenue became a battleground yesterday evening when one of our fellow journalists, Ester Marino, was targeted by Death Eaters in her small home on the outskirts of London. Ester had gone off the grid earlier last year following her difficult pregnancy, choosing to submit most of her articles from the comfort of her own home- a home, that eventually became a tomb for several._

 _The Dark Mark was reported to have appeared over the residence at approximately 6:00 p.m. but authorities were unable to arrive immediately due to an incident at a muggle zoo around the same time [_ _ **more about this incident on page 8**_ _]._

 _Aurors Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody and Alice Longbottom arrived on the scene just past 6:40 p.m and found a battlefield waiting for them. "The front yard was charred and there were several bodies strewn about," a witness reports, "It looked like a bomb had gone off outside the house."_

 _Authorities later identified a few of the bodies as known Death Eaters. Some remain unidentified since the damage they received was intensive enough to leave them nearly unrecognizable. They will be presumed Death Eaters until more information about the bodies come to light. Including an additional body inside the house, eight dead Death Eaters have been found._

" _Those wards were damned good," Auror Moody is overheard to have commented, "Good enough to take out seven of those slimy bastards."_

" _She was a hero," Auror Longbottom told the Daily Prophet. "She held on the longest she could and took down as many as she could with her. Her actions saved a lot of lives in the long run."_

 _Ester is reported to have killed eight Death Eaters in the time it took for Aurors to arrive on the scene. It is assumed that the first seven perished as they forced their way through the wards surrounding the house and the eighth was a casualty of a struggle indoors._

 _Tragically, help did not arrive in time to save Ester's life. When Aurors arrived on the scene, Ester Marino was already dead._

 _Witnesses near the home report hearing screaming coming from inside the house. Screaming that continued on and off. Authorities fear the Cruciatus Curse was involved and that Ester was tortured for an uncertain period of time before finally being struck by the Killing Curse_ _ **[more on the Unforgivables on page 4]**_ _._

 _The Daily Prophet asks the public to help in finding the whereabouts of the child she leaves behind._

 _Aurors Moody and Longbottom are in charge of the ongoing investigation for Ester's murder and her missing child. As of now, there are no leads- the location of the child remains unknown._

 _If you have any information in regards to this case, please contact Aurors Moody or Longbottom in the Auror Department in the Ministry of Magic._

 _The Daily Prophet will mourn Ester Marino. She fought until the very end._

* * *

 _ **THE DAILY PROPHET**_

 _ **October 8th, 1981**_

 _ **Aurors hit a dead-end, search for missing child proves fruitless.**_

 _ **By: Martha Ingent**_

 _Close to a year has passed since the tragic loss of beloved Magi-reporter, Ester Marino, who was killed last July during a Death Eater attack on her home. Since then, the identity of her killer has yet to be uncovered. The tragedy grows still, as no clues have been found about possible whereabouts of her missing child. The unnamed child has been missing since Ester's death._

 _Aurors Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody and Alice Longbottom, the Aurors leading the investigation, ask the public to dismiss theories of human sacrifice and- as Auror Moody is quoted to have said- "Keep their mouths shut if they're not going to be any help."_

 _The Daily Prophet asks that anyone with any information on the whereabouts of Ester Marino's missing child step forth and contact Aurors Moody and Longbottom in the Auror Department in the Ministry of Magic._

* * *

 _ **THE DAILY PROPHET**_

 _ **November 1st, 1981**_

 _ **THE DARK LORD VANQUISHED.**_

 _ **By: Higgins Nowl**_

 _The Daily Prophet bids you all celebrate, dear readers, for THE DARK LORD IS DEAD._

 _Reports state that last night, on the eve of Halloween, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named appeared in Godric's Hollow where he entered the home of James and Lily Potter. Both were killed in the struggle assumed to have taken place inside, leaving their one-year-old child as the only survivor of last night's miracle._

 _Conflicting accounts state that the home was under ward of the Fidelius Charm_ _ **[more on Fidelius Charm on page 12]**_ _whose Secret Keeper is rumored to be the best friend of the deceased James Potter, Sirius Orion Black. Not enough is known about this arrangement yet, although clues hint at Sirius Black's involvement with Death Eaters._

 _Although many events that transpired within the home of the Potter's remain unknown, the only confirmed report is that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated last night by the Boy Hero, HARRY POTTER._

 _The Daily Prophet bids its readers celebrate tonight!_

 _REJOICE for the reign of the Dark Lord is now over!_

 _REJOICE for the Dark Lord is DEAD!_

 _REJOICE for THE-BOY-WHO-LIVED!_

* * *

 _ **THE DAILY PROPHET**_

 _ **November 1st, 1981**_

 _ **A Death Eater's last stand? Sirius Black a murderer!**_

 _ **By: Ignis Prue**_

 _Last night, inside the Potter's home on Godric's Hollow, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated at the hands of Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived. Shortly since then, wizards have been coming forth- claiming to have been under the effects of the Imperius Curse_ _ **[more on the Unforgivables on page 9]**_ _while in service for the Dark Lord._

 _Shockingly, ex-Auror Sirius Black has been revealed as a Death Eater during an altercation between Peter Pettigrew- a childhood friend of both him and James Potter- and himself early in the dawn after the Dark Lord's defeat. When Aurors arrived on the scene, Black is reported to have repeated the words, "He's not dead," possibly in reference to the vanquished Dark Lord only to grow violent when Aurors attempted to detain him._

 _Twelve muggles were killed in the explosion that took place, as well as Pettigrew himself. Only a finger was recovered from his body. Sirius Black showed no remorse for his actions._ _ **[More on the incident on page 14.]**_

 _It has been stated that Sirius Black was the Secret Keeper of the Potter family and with the events of last night and this morning, it is clear to say that Sirius Orion Black_ _ **betrayed**_ _James and Lily Potter to the Dark Lord- resulting in their deaths and subsequent_ _ **defeat**_ _of You-Know-Who._

 _It is well known Bellatrix Lestrange, who was a prominent member of the Dark Lord's inner circle, originated from the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. Perhaps this is a sign that the Black Madness truly runs through members of this family._

 _Regardless of this fact, Sirius Black will be sent to Azkaban, where he will spend the rest of his life._

* * *

 _ **THE DAILY PROPHET**_

 _ **December 3rd, 1981**_

 _ **Search for missing child called off. Lost child assumed dead.**_

 _ **By: Leah Hooper**_

 _In the wake of the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the influx of Aurors needed to apprehend the extremist groups that remain of his reign, the search for the lost child of Ester Marino has been called off._ _ **[More on Ester Marino's death and missing child on page 5.]**_

" _If they're still out there it'd be a miracle," Auror Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody is overheard to have said to fellow Auror, Alice Longbottom, "If it's the Death Eaters that took them then there's no way they're still alive now that You-Know-Who is dead. The Death Eaters are cleaning house. They're getting rid of anything that ties them to what they've done. There's no reason to keep a stolen child."_

 _The lost child in question would be approximately two years old. It has been more than a year since their initial disappearance and no leads have been found._

 _As of now, Aurors are calling off the investigation. The lost child of Ester Marino has been declared dead._


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: Hello again! I'm sorry for the lack of update schedule for this fic, but I hope you enjoy this chapter. C:_**

 ** _To TheAngelicPyro: I'm glad that you're excited for what comes next! Thank you for reading!_**

* * *

 ** _October 31st, 1981_**

"Kreacher," the toddler sobbed out as he popped into the nursery with a soft _crack_. "Kreacher!"

The house-elf scowled but gathered the wailing child in his arms. "Bratling?"

Kreacher was a good elf. He listened to his Master's orders without questioning them- Master _always_ knew best- despite how… _unrefined_ the object of his current orders happened to be.

If Master commanded that Bratling be cared for, even if the child happened to be a horrid halfling- a mix of Pureblood and something _lesser_ \- Kreacher would obey. Kreacher would _always_ obey Master, not only because it was his duty- but because Master was Kreacher's _friend._

Kreacher used his magic to create orbs of multicolored light that danced around them. This, out of all the things Kreacher had tried to calm down the child under his care, was the only thing that seemed to bring peace to the sobbing toddler choking out the words, "I remember-"

The door to the nursery creaked open and Kreacher turned to his Master as he entered the room. "Kreacher? The wards went off," Master questioned with a concerned frown on his face, "Is everything alright?"

Kreacher straightened his back and wiped the child's face clean of tears and snot. Even a child had to be presentable when faced with the Master of the House. "Bratling had a nightmare. Kreacher will take care of it. Nothing for Master to waste his time on!"

"You _are_ holding my heir, Kreacher. It's not a waste of time if it has to do with this."

If he were not the most dignified house-elf of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, then the look on Kreacher's face would be affronted. " _Master,_ " He gasped in horror, "Bratling is not the permanent heir!"

"I've told you before Kreacher, her name isn't _Bratling_." Master laughed and Bratling perked up at the sound from Kreacher's arms. "It's Canopa."

Hearing his Master say the Bratling's name so fondly made Kreacher squirm in guilt. He had despised the child at first. It's where the nickname Bratling came from, to begin with.

Master was right about the Bratling's real name but Bratling would always be Bratling to Kreacher. Perhaps that's why his Master didn't bother too hard to enforce the name switch- since Kreacher didn't truly have any ill will towards the girl any longer.

Master probably thought it was funny to hear the girl be called that.

The child squirmed in Kreacher's hold and reached out to Master, who watched the girl with a bemused and melancholic expression before gently removing her from Kreacher's grasp.

"What's wrong, little one?" Master murmured to Bratling as the girl clutched him tightly and buried her face in his neck. "You had a nightmare too? Oh, don't cry, it was just a dream."

Bratling shook her head. The thick black curls bounced on her head as she did so. "No."

"No?" Master repeated with minor confusion, "No what?"

"Not just a dream," Bratling clarified with a watery sniffle, "I remember now."

Kreacher cocked his head. "What does Bratling remember?"

Bratling started crying again and Master's face flipped from concerned to panicked. For all that Master had been helping Kreacher raise the Bratling for the last year, Master was still clueless when it came to a crying Bratling. It was no surprise. Master was still a child himself when he decided to take in Bratling. Master was truly the kindest man Kreacher had the honor of serving.

Even if he had no idea how to rear a child.

Luckily for Master, Kreacher had raised both Master and-

Luckily for Master, Kreacher knew how to deal with young children and the care they needed in order for them to grow healthy, strong, and respectable members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

Bratling's next words stopped any humor that Kreacher may have felt at the sight of his normally poised Master out of his depth:

"I remember being someone else," Bratling said in a weary voice that Kreacher had never heard Bratling use before. Both Kreacher and Master froze at her words.

"What," Master asked, face locked on hysteria unbecoming of the Lord of the House of Black.

Kreacher had seen Master panic enough times to recognize the signs by now. This was his Master, terrified over what the Bratling had said.

"What did you just say?"

* * *

Regulus tucked the sleeping child back into her crib with trembling hands. She had fallen asleep after speaking for nearly an hour. He had sent Kreacher to get water for her raspy throat but she had fallen asleep before the elf could return. There was much that she didn't remember, much that Canopa held herself back from telling him. He was a Slytherin and noticing the tells of a lying child was simple.

He tried to ignore the ache in his heart that only yesterday Canopa had never spoken a single dishonest word towards him; or how the aged look in her eyes made her look like an entirely different child than the one he had grown to love.

 _(("Reg, look," Ester smiled, the dimple on her left cheek deepening. She took him by the hand and led him to the crib, both of them looking down at the sleeping infant below. "She's so tiny isn't she?"))_

Regulus wasn't naive. He knew reincarnation was rare even if not entirely unheard of in the Magical Community. But a part of him had hoped that perhaps Canopa hadn't truly meant what she had said. That she had simply been caught in the throes a bad dream and was simply saying the first things that came to mind. The amount of maturity present in her now in contrast to yesterday evening was enough to put that hope to sleep.

That wasn't the awareness of a two-year-old girl; that was a bastardized mix of adult and child that resulted in something between the two- something not quite the woman she had been in her past life but not wholly the toddler he had watched grow little by little.

((" _I think I died, Papa," Canopa whispered into his neck, "I think I remember dying."_

 _There was a lump in his throat at the thought of her having the knowledge of something so dreadful, so terrible, so horrifying. He tightened his arms around her and breathed in the scent of baby powder and shampoo. His heart was caught in his throat._

 _She pulled away enough to meet his eyes._

" _It hurt, Papa," She told him somberly, something aged and dark flashing across her eyes so like his own. "They say it doesn't but really does." Besides the crib, Regulus could see Kreacher staring at Canopa with nothing but the truest form of horror in his wide bulbous eyes._

" _It was scary-" Her voice cracked and she was the child he knew weeping in his arms once more. "It was scary and I was alone and it hurt so so so much-" ))_

He left the room in silence and closed the door behind him. His back was pressed against the sturdy wood of the door as his knees gave up under him. He slid down onto the ground with a gasp of air that was nearly impossible to draw into his lungs.

He didn't know how long he sat there, vacantly gazing at the end of the hall with his fingers pressed against his face but when he came to there was a glass of water beside him and a worried Kreacher wringing his hands in front of him.

"Is Master feeling better now?"

Regulus took a deep breath and exhaled softly. He nodded and took a sip of the water Kreacher had brought him. "It's just… a lot to take in."

The house-elf nodded in understanding, his ears drooping. "Kreacher does not think there has been an old soul born into Master's Noble House since before Kreacher's great-great-grandfather was born."

A part of Regulus perked up at the information. Despite how long ago that had been, the fact that someone of his family had been a reincarnated soul meant that some form of record about the person in question existed. He opened his mouth to ask Kreacher for more information about this ancestor of his when the tattoo on his left forearm started to burn.

He hissed a curse, quickly pressing down on the mark with a gasp of pain. Kreacher noticed the action immediately. His eyes went wide. "He calls?"

Regulus muttered an affirmation and dragged himself upright, gritting his teeth. This was the pain that came from refusing the summons of Lord Voldemort, from turning away from the unkillable wizard who feared death more than anything.

"Kreacher," He rasped, fighting back a groan of pain at the pain erupting from the Dark Mark. "My room. _Now!"_ The elf didn't question the command for a second. He snapped his fingers and suddenly Regulus was in his room, swaying on his feet and barely managing to reach the bed before collapsing.

He was growing used to the Dark Mark's agonizing pain. Fighting off the Dark Lord's summons had painful repercussions even though since that first time- the first time he turned his back on what his family wanted him to do and refused to serve Voldemort any longer- it had gotten easier to do so.

The pain remained the same. It was his conviction that had grown stronger.

(( _Ester looked up at their arrival, Kreacher more frantic than Regulus had ever seen him and Ester quickly growing pale at the elf's words. Words that sounded like they were coming from a great distance and left ringing in his ears. She shot up from her porch chair and was beside him in the span of a blink to the next. She dropped to her knees beside him- when had Kreacher laid him down?- and waved her wand over him._

 _She barked commands at Kreacher at whatever the diagnostic spell had told her and the elf only hesitated for a moment before obeying. Wasn't that funny, Regulus thought, even as his body convulsed from the pain in his arm once more, Kreacher only listened to Purebloods._

 _Ester must have made a good impression on him in the few times they'd met or perhaps the potion he had drunk had left him looking worse than he thought. At least he had gotten water at last. He had thought that the thirst would never end and still he ached for more._

 _He didn't know if he was screaming with every surge of agony that the Dark Mark sent through his nerves, but there was the taste of blood in his mouth so he might have been._

 _Ester's hands were cool as they brushed the hair from his face. Regulus leaned into the touch. He felt hot, too hot as if he were burning from the inside out starting with his arm. He must have blacked out because next time he woke he was laying on Ester's bed with a damp cloth on his brow._

 _Kreacher sat on a small rocking chair with an infant in his arms, looking tense and concerned but thoroughly distracted by the child. Ester herself had been holding his hand, red-rimmed eyes and thumb sweeping over the back of his hand gently. Her room smelled of flowers._

' _Kreacher, did you destroy it?' He wanted to ask. 'What happened while I was asleep?'_

" _You've been crying," He murmured instead, words hurting as they came out of his throat but too quiet to be clearly made out._

 _The sound caught the attention of the woman and the elf. Both of their heads shot up to look at him, twin expressions of relief washing over their faces at seeing him awake. Kreacher jumped up from his chair and bolted to his bedside, the Half-Blooded child in his arms seemingly forgotten for the moment._

" _Master! Master is finally awake!"_

" _Regulus," Ester said in a softer voice and her dark eyes meeting his. She twined her fingers into his own. There was an odd look on her face with a multitude of emotions mixed into it that Regulus could not decipher all of them. "Kreacher told me that you've defected."_

 _The smile that broke across her face rivaled the sun, "I'm glad you're okay."))_

* * *

Regulus opened his eyes.

The room spun into focus after a moment, breaking him out of the memory of a time long past and back into the present- into a place where Ester was dead and Canopa was the only thing that remained of her.

At some point Kreacher must have changed him out of pajamas he had worn into the nursery- there was a chance he had thrown up dinner onto them- and into a different set of nightclothes. There was a damp cloth on his forehead and a glass of cold water on the nightstand beside him.

Kreacher always nursed him through these incidents with nothing but gentleness and devotion. Despite this, Regulus selfishly wished that it was someone else that would be here with him; the same person that hummed as she dabbed at his face with a wet washcloth and that poked his cheek when he tried to sit up too soon after an attack.

His wand was beside the glass of water and he flicked the wood until a glow of magic burst from the end and twisted into the current time. His eyebrows rose. It had been less than an hour. Usually, the backlash from not answering the summons lasted for three if not more, depending on how vengeful Lord Voldemort was feeling that particular day.

Regulus turned his eyes to his left forearm and felt his breath stutter in his throat.

"KREACHER!"

The elf appeared almost immediately. His eyes were wide and his ears perked up in alertness. "Master?"

"The mark," Regulus whispered, unable to tear his eyes from the faded tattoo, "There's something wrong with the mark." The elf leaned in to peer at the mark closely and rocked back on his heels in shock.

"The magic almost is gone." Kreacher whispered reverently, looking as if someone had struck him upside the head with a frying pan. "Master! The mark is almost gone!"

"That means someone has nearly killed the Dark Lord." Regulus laughed hysterically.

He wanted to weep. His eyes were damp but were lit with a manic mix of hope and grief. Of course, by the time someone defeated Voldemort, it would be after it was too late to save the life of Ester Marino. "This gives us what we needed most, Kreacher! _Time to figure out how to destroy the Horcrux!"_

Outside, all over the streets of London- while Regulus mourned in the solitude of his bedchamber and Canopa slept on with memories of another life fluttering into her mind- the name _Harry Potter_ was whispered, revered, and became a thing of legend, all overnight.

* * *

 _ **November 1st, 1981**_

"This has to be some kind of sick prank," Master whispered, face pale and hands clenched tightly around the copy of the Daily Prophet. "Sirius-" His voice cracked as the man in the photograph snarled at the ones taking the picture and he squeezed his eyes shut. "Sirius would _never_ -"

Kreacher wrung a dishrag in his long-fingered hands. His eyes were incredibly wide, flicking his gaze between his Master and the newspaper in Master's hands.

"They're saying he killed thirteen people," Master said and set the newspaper down beside this untouched breakfast. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "They're saying _Sirius_ is a Death Eater and that he sold Potter out to the Dark Lord."

"Is Master talking about the blood traitor?" Kreacher asked anxiously. "Mistress Black's traitorous son?"

Master's hand dropped away from his eyes and they fluttered shut. "Kreacher," Master said quietly, in a voice that left no room for argument. "Please. Not now."

Kreacher yanked at his right ear at the mild reprimand. "Kreacher is sorry."

"Papa?" Bratling's voice cuts in from the other end of the table.

Kreacher jerked and turned to stare at Bratling in shock. Bratling stared at Master with grey eyes that looked much older than they ever had before. Kreacher was starkly reminded of the events of last night.

"Canopa," Master began weakly, not raising his eyes from where they had dropped to the freshly polished cutlery beside the newspaper. His shoulders were stiff and he seemed frozen in place. "I've told you before that you shouldn't call me that."

Bratling glanced at the newspaper on the table and back up at Master with an unreadable expression on her face. "Papa," She repeated as if Master hadn't been trying to dissuade her from calling him that since she first spoke the word nearly a year ago. "Who's Sirius?"

Master's breath hitched at the question and Kreacher had to hold back the urge to send Bratling to her room with a snap of his fingers. Master had ordered him to treat Bratling well, and sending Bratling away whenever the urge struck him wasn't something Master approved of. No matter how her questions were opening wounds in Master's heart that hadn't had the chance to ever fully heal.

"Sirius…" Master whispered, choking out the name of the blood traitor as if it hurt him to say it, "Sirius is my older brother." Master's hands had curled around the edge of the dark wood of the table. His fingers were white-knuckled and nearly bloodless. "We haven't spoken in a very long time."

"I don't like Uncle Sirius," Bratling declared suddenly, making Master's head snap up to look at her in shock and Kreacher feel a kernel of pride at Bratling's opinion on the traitor. "Talking about him makes you sad, Papa, so I don't like him at all."

At Bratling's words, Master flinched _hard_.

"Master?" Kreacher asked in concern, seeing how pale Master had gone at Bratling's words. The flicker of satisfaction he felt at Bratling rejecting her relation with the blood traitor as gone now, drowned by worry for his Master.

Anything that had to do with the blood traitor always affected Master, so it was no surprise that Bratling's ignorant statement had struck Master right in the place he was most sensitive about. Especially since it had to do with Bratling, and that Mudblood mother of hers, and Master's blood traitor brother, and Master himself.

Master stood up from the table, dragging his eyes away from the Bratling with some effort and drawing in a shuddering breath. "I'm not feeling very well, I'll be in my chambers."

"Papa?" Bratling questioned and squirmed against the high chair she was seated in. She reached out for Master with short pudgy arms and called for him again, her voice tinged with a trace of panic this time. "Papa?"

"Kreacher, I need you to do something for me," Master said, eyes intense and filled with swirling grief. "I've tried so many times but I've never been able to bring myself to do it."

Kreacher's eyes widened and the dishrag slipped out of his grip. "Master can't mean-"

"Kreacher," Master murmured, his fingers twitching towards the now crying Bratling- as if he wanted to scoop her up and ease her weeping. "Show her the tapestry."

Kreacher hesitated, thinking about how much this decision could alter the sense of home Master had found after his Mudblood sweetheart had been killed. But Kreacher was a good elf, he had always been a good elf, and so he bowed his head and whispered, "Yes Master."

"Papa, I'm sorry," Bratling sobbed and clawed at the latches of the chair.

Master nodded silently as he walked away from the dining room.

"I didn't mean to make you sad, Papa, I'm sorry."

The words followed Master out as he fled.

* * *

The ceiling hadn't changed from the last time Regulus had traced it with his eyes, although the ache in his heart had a different cause this time. Last time it was the mother and now it was the daughter. What a horrid thing to inherit, he mused even as he let out a bitter laugh- the ability to break his heart with little effort.

Distantly he wondered if Kreacher had shown Canopa the tapestry if she had seen the secret he hadn't been able to bring up from the moment she first called him, 'Papa'.

He wondered if she would be able to understand what it all meant.

 _(("Papa, do you promise that you won't ever hate me?" Canopa asked, after the admission that she remembered dying still hung in the air the nursery and Regulus had remembered how to breathe once more._

" _Even if I'm not normal like everyone else?" She whispered, gray eyes wide and shiny with tears, "Even if I remember being someone else besides Canopa?" She was so small in his arms- the little girl, the dead woman, the twisted combination of the two. She felt like the child he had taken in, the child he had sworn to protect with his life no matter what._

 _Regulus hadn't hesitated. "I could never hate you, little one. Never, ever."_

" _I promised your mother I would always take care of you," Regulus continued, rubbing soothing circles on her small back as she wept. "I promised that I would always think of you as my own no matter what."_

 _The small lights that Kreacher had summoned earlier danced around the room, softly illuminating the messily painted trees and flowers decorating the bedroom wall. If Regulus closed his eyes and thought back, he could almost remember the exact way the sun had hit Ester's smile as she painted the bright red apples into the branches of the trees._

" _Do you promise that you won't ever hate me either?" Regulus asked in a whisper, the weight and guilt of what he had hidden way striking him once again, in the way it tended to whenever he saw Canopa._

 _The girl had wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her white nightgown and had given him a bright smile._

" _Silly Papa," she had said, "I could never hate you either."))_

Regulus wondered if that would be true even after she saw the tapestry.

* * *

"It's so pretty," Canopa whispered as she drank in the sight of the tapestry depicting the lineage of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black for centuries after centuries. Kreacher was somber by her side, levitating her up with magic after she asked him to let her see the family tree from the very top but saying little else. It wasn't until her chubby fingers had reached the near bottom of the tapestry that she paused and stared blankly at her Mother's name- at the name it was connected to before dropping off to her own.

"Does Bratling see now? What Master did not say before?" Kreacher asked, only after he saw that Canopa had paused on the three names. "Does Bratling see now why Master despairs?"

"Oh," She whispered, tracing the line of her Papa's name with a finger; tracing the line of her Mother's name with another, and not moving her eyes away from the burnt spot in the fabric that was nestled between the two. "I do."

She needed no further explanation to see that there were no lines connecting the name _Canopa Black_ to _Regulus Black,_ or that the name of her father, right above her own, was burnt away.

* * *

Back when they were still young boys, Sirius and Regulus, had been inseparable.

Everything had begun with the two of them, the two brothers of the House Black.

Sirius, the perfect heir, and Regulus, the perfect spare. Sirius, who would always walk ahead, look ahead; come, see and conquer first. Regulus, who would always carefully step where his brother had stepped fist, who would never look beyond his brother; who would arrive, examine and leave places untouched.

There it began with the heir and the spare and the bond the two shared.

 _Then for the heir came:_ Hogwarts and Gryffindor; James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew; the disownment, the banishment from the family tapestry, the screaming match in the kitchen.

 _Then for the spare came_ : Regulus alone; Slytherin and their parent's expectations; being shunned by his brother; Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters; family duty and being branded and wanting to run but being unable to do so.

 _Then for the heir came_ : Freedom, choices, friends, and a taste of paradise.

 _Then for the spare came_ : The servitude, the gritting his teeth in silence; salvation, and damnation, and Ester Marino.

 _Then for the heir and the spare came_ : Canopa Black and the title of father that could only belong to a single man- one who had no clue that the title was meant to be his and the other wanting nothing more than for it to belong to him.

Everything began with the two of them, the once inseparable brothers of the House Black.

And so at last, it came down to the two of them once more, Sirius and Regulus- the dishonored heir and the crowned spare.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Don't forget to tell me what you think! I hope you enjoyed this chapter lol. C:**_

 _ **See you next time!**_


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: I'm so s_** ** _orry for the wait, guys. Not only has this year been tough on me personally, but this isn't even my main work. I did manage to post a few new works since my last update, so feel free to check those out (including a Hanahaki!DGM one-shot, the beginnings of a Villain!Izuku fic, as well as updates for my other fics). Mind you, I took a brief break from the Hisoka/OC fic I was writing, but I'm feeling much better now- so I'm trying to update all the things I need to before this writing high wears off._**

 ** _To strangers. in. the. night: I'm glad you're liking the story so far!_**

 ** _To TheAngelicPyro: Yeah, poor Regulus tbh_**

 ** _To Madam3Mayh3m: I'm glad to have an effect on you, even if it's confusion lol Thanks for reading and suuuuper late Happy Birthday!_**

 ** _To Celiaatje24: I'm so glad you like it! I hope you enjoy this chapter as well._**

 ** _To Branded Lunacy: Thank you!_**

 ** _To xenocanaan: I agree completely, Regulus is the one that has stepped as a father, knowing full well that Canopa isn't his child. So he's Papa, all the way to her. I'm glad you like it so far! Sorry for the long wait!_**

* * *

 ** _November 2nd, 1981_**

"No! I don't want to!"

"Get in the bath, Bratling," Kreacher ordered, voice stern and mouth pressed in an unimpressed line at her refusal. Not that Canopa was fooled. Kreacher was her best friend in the whole world, reading his facial expressions was easier than convincing Papa to let her have an extra tart for dessert.

She always refused to get into the baths he prepared for her. And almost as if he was prepared to dealing with similar situations, Kreacher always responded in the same way. He secretly found this whole thing amusing, she could tell. Otherwise, he wouldn't humor her by asking her to get in the tub, knowing what her answer had always been and would continue to be: a firm and steadfast _no._

"Kreacher will not allow Bratling to shame Master's Noble and Most Ancient House by letting Bratling remain filthy. Bratling must take a bath now."

She stuck out her tongue at him and hid behind the toilet.

It was always funny to rile him upThe reactions he gave never failed in making her feel better. After the long night of remembering things she shouldn't have, as well as learning that her Papa had a real reason to be adverse to the name she had given him- Kreacher's reaction to her teasing was something she was looking forward to.

Kreacher's left ear twitched.

"Bratling leaves Kreacher no choice," He raised a knobby finger and Canopa rose through the air too, laughing in the delight at the weightlessness of her body. This was her favorite part, feeling like she was flying- like the fluffy clouds she had seen through her bedroom window.

With his other hand, he snapped and Canopa's dirtied clothing made its way off her and folded itself neatly on the marble counter. "Grimy child," Kreacher tsked, as he always did, lowering his finger and gently bringing her down into the warm soapy water of the clawed tub.

This too was one of Canopa's favorite parts.

She loved the water on her skin, the bubbles that chimed like bells as they popped in the air, and the way the water always smelled like lavender and jasmine. She liked splashing in the big tub and watching Kreacher's eyes soften at the squeals of delight that would escape her.

She liked it when the toys in the bath- small ducks of various colors letting out high pitched quacks and swimming across the water, ships with small sailors enchanted to sing shanties as they circled her knees- played along when she babbled nonsense, the ducks quacking in agreement and the sailors changing their songs to fit what she would tell them.

This was one of Canopa's favorite parts, so why…?

 _(("I think I died, Papa. I think I remember dying."))_

Her smile died as the water met her skin. Trembling started in her fingers, climbing up her arms, taking over her entire body in a matter of seconds. The bubbles still sounded like bells but the way they tolled and tolled made goosebumps erupt from her flesh. The scent of lavender and jasmine was cloying now, choking the air from her lungs and making it harder to breathe.

Why was…?

The ducks let out concerned squeaks and the sailors sang something low and soothing, but the sounds didn't fully register, not when she was panting and pulling as much breath into her lungs as she could, not when the sound of her terrified gasps of air muffled the toys.

"Bratling?" Kreacher asked, voice soft, eyes wide and fear, "What is wrong?"

What was wrong? What was wrong with her?

She shook her head frantically, ' _I don't know. I'm so scared, Kreacher.'_

No words escaped her mouth. The jerky movements made the water slosh around her, wetting more of her skin. _'Help me, I'm so scared,'_ she wanted to beg, but the sounds were caught in her throat the same way her eyes were locked onto the rippling of the water-

the water

 _the water_

 ** _the water-_**

* * *

"What happened, Sirius?" Regulus muttered, pacing the length of his chambers with his teeth biting at his thumbnail, "What the hell could have made them say you did something like this?"

On the silk sheets of his messy bed, where he had laid awake all night tossing and turning, the face frenzied image of his brother's face peered out at him. The headline was seared into his memory. Regulus couldn't stop glancing at the newspaper as if doing so would stop the world from calling Sirius a murderer. It was hard not to feel sick at what was happening, considering that it was _his brother_ being declared a murderer- a Death Eater- having names thrown at him that applied more to Regulus than to Sirius.

The crime Sirius was accused of called for a life-sentence in Azkaban. His brother would waste away in that place. Hated. Alone. Caged.

( _There was nothing more that Sirius ever wanted than to be free.)_

Sirius who was always more lion than a snake. Sirius who burnt down his connections to his family rather than betray one of his friends. Sirius, who didn't even know of the existence of his daughter- the most important thing in Regulus's life. Sirius, who Regulus could do nothing to help without putting everything he had left on the line.

Regulus closed his eyes. Took a deep breath to settle his agitated thoughts and tried to focus on what he _could_ do without getting arrested for being a Death Eater himself.

He couldn't offer up his memories to the Wizengamot.

Not when he had been far from the Dark Lord's side when the betrayal in question had supposedly occurred. Not when he technically didn't have any evidence of Sirius's innocence besides the knowledge that his brother was a better man than he. Not when doing so was a confession of the sins he had committed under the mask of a Death Eater, without the assurance that he would still be a free man after doing so.

He had defected from the Dark Lord's side for a long enough time that if he went to the right people, then his words in defense for his brother would be worth _something_ at least. The question was not only who would be willing to step against the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch Sr.- but of who could do so and _succeed._

The first that came to mind was Albus Dumbledore, the only wizard that could stand against Lord Voldemort and hold his ground, although Regulus was positive that he was already meddling in Sirius's case. A naive fool he may be- but a loyal one at that. Light wizards clumped together for a reason, and they were loath to leave one of their own behind, even if the situation was beyond bleak.

Sirius had always shown respect to Dumbledore that not even their parents had been privy to. Regulus had no doubt that it would amount to _some_ form of support from the powerful man. But that meant that besides Dumbledore, Regulus couldn't think of anyone he could ask- _not beg, a Black never begged, no matter how desperate they were-_ for assistance in proving his brother's innocence.

The only one of Sirius's friends that had held any measure of influence had been Potter and the Lupin brat, with that grimy traitor following closely behind, desperate for the attention that no one would have given him had it not for his friends. But Potter was dead, Lupin held no power while his father was still alive, and Peter Pettigrew was a traitor to the cause.

Regulus paused.

Maybe that was the way to go about this entire endeavor?

A traitor for an innocent man. Information for freedom.

The newspaper hadn't specified when Sirius's trial was to be held, only that Azkaban was the most certain outcome. Surely there was still time to step forward and tell the world of Peter's betrayal, revealing the truth behind the man that was being glorified as a hero when he was nothing of the sort.

He would send a letter with Kreacher then, as soon as possible, to Dumbledore.

He had nowhere else to turn.

No one else would even consider aiding him once it was revealed that he had been a Death Eater and imprisonment, no matter how strongly he deserved it for the things he had done, wasn't an option- not with the promise he had made to Ester Marino hanging over his head. Not with Canopa depending on him for safety and comfort, no matter that he was a liar that had allowed the deception of Canopa's true parentage to remain hidden for so long.

Then, Kreacher appeared, eyes wide and filled with fear, his small body stumbling as he popped into the chamber with a crack. "Master!" Kreacher cried, trembling down to the tips of his long ears, eyes wide and wet with fear. His arms cradled something close to his chest, small and painfully familiar.

Regulus's wand was aimed at the house-elf within moments, curse ready to bubble from his lips as he reacted without thought. It took a second for him to recognize Kreacher, another to put his wand down; and a final one for the world to freeze in its axis, for his heart to stop in his chest- for him to register the shape of his- _daughter-_ niece in the elf's shaking arms. Limp, unmoving.

She was pale, face waxen and beaded with sweat. She trembled, shaking just as badly as Kreacher's arms under her weight- drawing in breaths so shallow that her chest barely rose with the movement.

"Canopa?" Regulus whispered and repeated it again a second later, louder, fraught with horror.

(( _"Reg, I need you to promise me something," Ester combed her fingers through the inky strands of his hair, eyes having been turned upward- following the path of the clouds sluggishly floating away- but bringing them down to meet his own. "Promise to take care of Canopa if anything happens to me."_

 _"Nothing is going to happen to you," He immediately shot back, his eyes flying open to glare at her. "I've told you to stop saying such foolish things."_

 _Ester laughed, eyes sad and smile soft, "Humor me won't you, Reg?"_

 _He had paused, not hesitating out of disdain for Canopa or for what his family might say if he took in a half-blooded child as his own, but because at that moment, something told him that making that promise would irrevocably alter his life from there on forth. He refused to allow anything to happen to Ester- would fight to his last breath to prevent it- but as he said the words, promised to care for Canopa no matter what, something cold settled in his bones._

 _And three weeks later, when Kreacher cracked into his room, mouth shaping the words that a part of him had been waiting to hear since making that promise- Regulus closed his eyes but was not surprised at all. ))_

Canopa whimpered in Kreacher's arms.

Regulus jerked into motion at the sound, taking her from the house elf's arms and cradling her close, head tucked right beneath his chin like he did when she woke with nightmares that Kreacher could not soothe away. "What happened!?"

Kreacher shook his head, gnarled fingers twisting and harshly yanking at his ears. "Kreacher doesn't know. Bratling was in the bath and it was like the other times, but then it wasn't. Kreacher doesn't know what happened, Master."

He pulled at his ear painfully again, stopping only when Regulus told him to not hurt himself. He fidgeted instead, bouncing from foot to foot anxiously, "Bratling looked into the water and screamed. Then, Bratling was quiet and fainted."

"That's all? No magic? She didn't touch something she shouldn't have?"

"No, no, Kreacher checked for curses."

Regulus sat with Canopa on the rumpled bed, wand curling through the air with as many diagnostic spells as he could recall. The results made the knot in his chest loosen the slightest bit.

There was no physical trauma, nor any internal injuries that he was secretly unaware of.

The pulsing of a white ribbon of magic connected to Canopa's wrist told him that her heartbeat was much faster than it should have been, but it didn't help him determine the cause. In his arms, the tremors lessened and as he gently rocked her, her breathing steadied.

"Alright," he said, chewing on his lip, "Here's what we'll do."

The weight of his brother's eyes was heavy on him as he managed to voice a set of directions for Kreacher to follow- habit turning his words into something closer to a request than an order. Mother would have curled her lip in disgust at the tremble in his voice and the panic in his veins.

All the while, Sirius stared out at him from the newspaper.

' _You're an idiot, Reggie, if you think you can keep her safe from the world.'_ Sirius's screaming face seemed to say, ' _You want to call her yours, but you cannot keep her safe in your own home. '_

 _'I know_ ,' Regulus thought in the silence of Kreacher popping away, teleporting to the kitchen, where one of the many cabinets held the potions that Regulus had asked him to retrieve. _'I know.'_

He thought of the tapestry, of his brother being accused of a crime Regulus was positive he had not committed. He thought of the Dark Lord, of the world baying for blood and retribution, of the sins he had committed thinking his cause was the just one- the one that would make the world a place that would be worth the lives sacrificed to create it.

 _'You would be better at this, Siri. You or her, but I'm all that's left-'_ He brushed the sweaty curls away from Canopa's face, guilt settling in his belly like lead, '- _and she's all that I have left too."_

* * *

-it was cold, seeping through her clothes, chilling her skin, freezing the blood in her veins. It surrounded her, burning like fire down her throat, dragged into her screaming lungs. It hurt, hands grabbing her shoulders and pushing her into the darkness spread below; holding her as she screamed and struggled-

 _(("It was scary," she would later tell her Papa, once she was less Canopa and not quite the unnamed dead woman, but something tragic; something both alive and dead, hanging right between the two. ))_

In her bedroom, illuminated with those multicolored orbs of light, held in her Papa's arms, it was easy to forget- the cold, the water, the fear. At the dinner table, it was easy to forget- the choking, the struggling, the fading.

 _(("It was scary and I was alone," she would say, as if it wasn't a twisting mix of both truth and lie; as if there had never been hands forcing her down, down, down into the coldness of the water; as if those words could hold the weight of what it was like die and not die, all at once, "and it hurt so so much."))_

Even faced with the tapestry that revealed to her the truth of her parentage- a truth that filled her with a fear of her Papa no longer wanting her because she was not truly his own- it was easy to forget that she was once someone else but Canopa, that she had once had a life before this one.

She _couldn't_ just push aside what she was.

There were missing pieces, powdered images like shattered glass swirling inside her skull. Who she had been, where she had lived, what she had known- it all mixed together, a whirlpool of memories, a hurricane of thoughts. Overlapping it all was the child, the short life she had lived here- the power of the living crushing the memories of the dead.

Although, not all of them- the jagged parts of death that clung to her would not be so easily swept aside.

 _(("We'll figure it out," Papa had promised her, wiping at her snotty and tear-stained face with a rag Kreacher had handed him, "However long it takes."))_

She and the child were one now, twisted together down to the very soul. The stain that death had left on Canopa irrevocably changed her, down the deepest part of her being, to the very fabric of her soul.

And looking down at the bath water, seeing her own pale reflection, Canopa knew that no matter how much her Papa had reassured her, things wouldn't be the same.

* * *

The flasks of potions hovered in the air near Kreacher's head when he reappeared in the bedroom once more, gnarled fingers holding a silver tray with a glass of water and a simple broth atop of it.

"For when Bratling wakes up," the elf clarified, voice still shaky but doing his best to not show the extent of it. "Kreacher has fetched all the potions Master asked of him."

"Thank you Kreacher," Regulus said, hand brushing through Canopa's curls and shoulders slumped downward. He reached for a stoppered flask and popped it open with his thumb, shifting Canopa so that she sat upright on his lap, head lolling back onto his shoulder. The limpness in her body made his stomach turn. It had only been a day since he had seen her, checking on her as she slept, terrified of the confrontation waiting to take place. It had not even been a full day since then- and yet here she was, unconscious in his arms, something unseen wrong with her that he couldn't find.

The first potion was coaxed down her throat. Regulus holding his breath in anticipation of her awakening. It took a few moments for the potion to do it's job. But when Canopa woke up it was with a gasp- her body and the doors on Regulus's armory beginning to violently shake. The photographs on his vanity fell flat on their glass face, the newspaper on his bed taking to the air as the sound of breaking glass filled the room.

Regulus met Kreacher's equally shocked gaze. Was this Canopa's doing? Accidental magic?

He had no time to dwell on it, attention snapping back down to- _his-_ Sirius's child at the choked sob that left her, as her small hands rose up to clutch at her throat in terror.

"Canopa?"

And at the sound of his voice, her entire body tensed for a fraction of a second- before she whirled around quickly, throwing her arms around him and heaving a loud sob.

"Papa," she wailed, tears wet and hot against his neck, "Papa, you're here."

"It's alright now," Regulus murmured, careful to not scare her, heart aching at feeling of her trembling in his arms, at the sound of her calling him Papa despite everything, Wincing as the newspaper flying in the air crashed against the wall, magic tossing everything rampartly around the room, he continued, "I'm here, little one. I'm here."

"Please don't make me go away, Papa," she cried and Regulus flinched. She bunched her tiny hands into fists around the fabric of his shirt, as if she hadn't broken his heart with those seven words.

Send her away? How could she even think she was capable of such a thing- when worry for her well-being filled him every time she was out of his sight, when the fear of never seeing her again filled him with terror so strong that even a boggart would know to use it against him.

"I won't," he promised, throat dry and eyes burning. He swallowed heavily, slowly saying his next words as if testing the weight of them on his tongue. "I won't ever send you away, little star. Don't you know that-" his voice grew quieter, guilt and sorrow twining together, tangling with frail hope, "-that Papa loves you?"

Canopa's head shot up, red-rimmed gaze meeting his in startled disbelief. Her lower lips trembled but her eyes shone a bit brighter, more focused. Like the storm clouds in her blind had cleared long enough for her to hear his murmured assurances. "Even if I'm not yours?"

"I'm not yours either, do you still love me the same?"

 _(("Of course she'll love you," Ester told him, wiping her hand on her apron and raising a brow at his glum expression, "Just because you're not her father doesn't mean she can't love you like one, you know."_

 _"I didn't ask that," he muttered, averting his eyes. Sometimes looking at Ester was blinding. Sometimes the way she looked at him made him feel like a foolish boy asking a question he should already know the answer to. Such as now._

 _"Well, not in those exact words, no." She retorted, rolling her eyes, "But I caught your meaning perfectly fine, Reg, you don't have to act all shy about it."_

 _"Don't twist my words,"he snapped, face hot, "I was simply curious, that's all."_

 _"About whether it's normal for her to be so attached to you even though you're not her father?"_

 _"Can't she tell!?" His voice came out like a plead, like he was desperate to know the answer but scared of what he would do if it was something he couldn't bear to hear, "Doesn't it matter that I'm not her father? Doesn't it matter that I won't be able to be to her what my brother is!?"_

 _Ester frowned, moving close, the dishes in the sink forgotten. He couldn't tear his eyes from the whorls in the wooden table as she approached. She came to a stop besides him, but he did not raise his head._

 _Her hands gently brushed his hair away from his face, softly pulling his chin until his eyes met hers._

 _"Regulus," she breathed, placing a soft kiss on his brow, "For a child, for Canopa, what you are right now is a father. It doesn't matter that you're not her blood-parent. Is that what you think fatherhood is, Reg? Just having a blood relation and nothing more? Playing with her, changing her, making sure she's warm and fed- does that not sound like what a father is?"_

 _"That… I don't-"_

 _"Just as you already love her, she'll love you. You don't have to be related to be family."))_

There was no hesitation in her actions, no moment of pause.

Canopa met his eyes with an intense gaze, nodding firmly, "You're my Papa no matter what."

"And you'll be my little one for however long you let me be your Papa." Kreacher let out a loud scoff at his words, having remained respectfully silent for most of the interaction.

"Bratling is a simple child, Master," he said, nose wrinkling up- although there was a tension missing from his bony frame now that Canopa was awake, "Kreacher does not believe that Bratling will ever want otherwise."

Regulus couldn't help the slight smile that came across his lips. Kreacher wasn't very subtle at all.

"Your mother once taught me that family isn't just made up of blood-relation," he said, "And you, Kreacher, and I- we're a family aren't we?"

"Yeah!" She was no longer shaking. Her magic settling down until things were no longer floating in the air. "Kreacher is my bestest friend," Canopa confirmed solemnly, "And Papa is Papa."

Kreacher sputtered in surprise. His cheeks and the tips of his ears had darkened. He didn't meet Regulus's amused gaze- although, it was clear that he was extremely pleased at the declaration.

"Now little one," Regulus's began, "why don't you tell me what happened in the bathroom?"

The tremors came back with full force. Her eyes, when they met his, flickered between glazed and sharp. There was something going on here that he was missing- something that he was beginning to think had to do with the events of Halloween night.

And at her words, during a second of clarity in her eyes, Regulus knew he was right.

"I remembered death."

* * *

 _ **A/N: If you have any questions or just want to yell at me, feel free to follow me on Tumblr (which I'm planning on staying until I'm executed or the site self-destructs) at mortesangriz . tumblr . com (just remove the spaces).**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Hey everyone, I'm awful for taking so long with this damn update, but real life is a thing and I've been busy with it.**_

 _ **Here's this short chapter to reassure you guys that I'm not abandoning this story. I hope you guys enjoy and forgive me for not having a single damn clue as to how to write Dumbledore in character.**_

* * *

Regulus first saw someone die when he was a child. His mother didn't believe that eight was too young to visit the deathbed of a kinsman even though Regulus hardly knew him, had hardly even heard of him. ' _You are a Black_ ,' she said, voice like steel with no room for argument, as if that was explanation enough. Sirius was forced to go along as well, though he was loud in his disdain. Outraged, even, at being taken to watch an old man die like it was something to gawk at.

' _A spectacle for those with nothing better to do,'_ he had said and the darkness that flashed across Mother's eyes promised painful retribution for his audacity in saying such things aloud, in the company of other members of the family, as distant as the relation was. The hex she cast on him the moment the Floo deposited them back home swelled his tongue an angry, painful, red. He couldn't eat solid meals for three days. Kreacher would drip broth between his cracked lips so that he wouldn't starve and Sirius would weep from the pain while Regulus would pretend not to see.

Sirius never did like it when he would see him cry.

Nightmares after that came more often than not. They crept up on Regulus and rattled like the dying lungs of broken men, burned his mind with images of empty eyes and bloated tongues rolling in gaping mouths; Sirius's quiet sobbing filling the space in between. His brother had comforted him once the hex had eased, for the ghastly dreams persisted for weeks after the visit and as they had shared a room then, it was simple for them to wake when the other did.

It was something he would always remember, even when he was dragged into the arguments between Mother and Sirius, bitter words thrown his way. From his mother, for being lesser than his brilliant brother. From his brother, for being too cowardly to take his side in the disputes. Regulus would keep his eyes downcast, as the words sunk into his skin, thinking of how gentle Sirius's hands were in his hair, of how soothing those reassurances were all those nights he jolted awake in terror.

It kept him from shouting himself, from taking all those stinging, aching feelings in his chest and letting it all spill from his lips like the syllables of a dark curse- ruthless, with the intention to hurt.

When Sirius finally left him, just like he had sworn he would do in those nightmare-ridden rooms; all Regulus could think of was how his voice had shaken when he asked if Sirius could come along too all those years before and how his older brother had clutched his hand and whispered, ' _I could never leave you, Reg.'_ But Sirius did leave him, didn't he? With no one but Kreacher, Mother, and his own flaws.

Regulus was fifteen, solemn and ashen but choking down the bile that bubbled on his tongue, holding still so the shaking in his hands wasn't obvious when he first saw someone murdered before his eyes. Bellatrix had smiled at him, ruffling his hair like she often did in their youth- back before her eyes grew feverish and mad, before all that flowed from her tongue were praises to the Dark Lord and threats of bloodshed to anyone that dared oppose him. ' _Oh, little cousin, don't worry, you'll get it next time. There are plenty of Mudbloods to practice on, after all."_

Sirius had long been gone from home at that point, and the only one that comforted him after was Kreacher, older than in his youth, but still kind to him. Still his friend even after all those years. ' _Kreacher wishes,'_ he said, wringing his old towel toga with his knobby fingers, watching Regulus heave into the toilet, sickened at what his cousin had shown him. Seeing the flash of brilliant green in his mind's eye. ' _Kreacher wishes the world was as kind as the young Master was."_

' _Oh but I am not kind, I am a coward,'_ he wanted to say, ' _I want change but not death. I want revolution but no martyrs. What use is a soldier that does not kill?'_

But he didn't. Couldn't bring himself to show this weakness atop of all the other flaws he was made of, not even to the creature he trusted most in the world.

The words nestled inside him like a serpent in a new den, living in the caverns of his bones, squirming creatures of scales and fangs that eventually matured enough to kill with a single venomous bite- when the serpent eventually crawled from the marrow of his bones and seared its image into the soft, pale flesh of his forearm.

He became a _(Death Eater. Death Eater. Death Eater-)_ tool, an instrument of war, as reluctant as he could be without it becoming treason. And the nightmares continued on, and on, and on, with the years doing nothing to dim the images in his dreams.

* * *

 ** _November 2nd, 1981_**

"I remembered death," Canopa told him, eyes dark and mournful, trembling in his arms, "I didn't want you to know, Papa, because I knew you would be sad. But I wasn't ready to die and I was scared and all I can think when I look at the water is how cold it was. All I can remember is how much it hurt to breathe until I stopped breathing completely."

"You… Is that how…" He heard himself say, voice faint. His mouth was dry. He clutched at her this time, pulling her closer as if scared she would slip from between his fingers like a phantom, like everyone he loved had done so before. Horror slithered up his spine and sank itself into his bones, gnawing its way inside him like those serpents of self-loathing, all those years ago. "You… drowned?"

Just breathing those words into the air made his stomach drop into his shoes, reminded him too much of the night in that cave, throwing his life away just for a chance to kill the Dark Lord.

"No, Papa," she gently corrected, lower lip trembling. Fat tears welled from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Kreacher let out a distressed sound at the sight. Regulus brought a hand up to brush the tears away with a thumb. "I didn't drown, Papa," she hiccuped, shaking her head, "I was _drowned_."

He flinched as if struck. His hand froze on Canopa's cheek. It felt as if the breath he drew in wasn't enough to fill his lungs, as if the entire world had narrowed down to those three words- to the revelation that death had come for Canopa in the same way it had come for him. Regulus felt bile climb up his throat, remembered the skeletal hands grabbing hold of him and _pulling_ him down, down, down.

Death was empty gazes and cold skin, mouths lolling open and tongues spilling out. It was the stench of urine and feces, seeping into bedsheets, into clothing. It was the rattle of a dying relative, the unfinished plea for mercy of an unnamed mudblood, the voiceless, silent screams of terrified muggles.

That was what Regulus had seen death to be, what he had known it to be. Later in his life, he would come to know death more intimately. Like it was a spurned lover kissing poison between his lips in a final, melodramatic farewell… except it wasn't poison but a potion, and he ordered Kreacher to feed him every last drop.

Death, to him, was inside a cavern- was the burn of thirst leaving him weeping on the ground, clawing at his throat until blood and skin stained the crescents of his nails. It was looking at the water _\- the water, the water, there were dead in the water_ \- with terror weakening his knees, his heart racing like a frightened rabbit, wondering if anyone would remember him once he was gone.

It was the burn of stagnant water forced down his throat, filling his lungs until they almost burst, the rotting flesh of animated corpses greedily wrapping around his own, gnashing teeth and empty eyes and yellowed bones clinging to his robes as he was dragged deeper into the depths.

Kreacher's eyes grew wider, he stepped back before he could stop himself, staring at the child in Regulus's arms as if seeing a ghost. "Drowned," he whispered, realization crossing his face. "It was the water that upset Bratling so much. Stupid, _stupid_ Kreacher-" His fingers curled around his ears and he pulled on them almost violently, "Kreacher should have known better-"

"Kreacher," Regulus said, voice shaky but gentle all the same, "It's alright. You didn't know. You couldn't have known." Even _he_ hadn't seen this outcome. He would have never expected that Canopa's past life had ended so cruelly; he would have never guessed it on his own. "Now, please don't be so hard on yourself, old friend. It's not your fault."

But it might have been his, a punishment for the lives he had stood by and allowed to be stolen away. The toll for slipping through the fingers of death and finding a reason to carry on in Ester's smile, in Canopa's laughter, in Kreacher's devotion. Fate must be laughing at him, to curse the child he had accepted as his own with the memories of a past life- of a past _death-_ that mirrored the way he had almost died himself.

"I wish I didn't remember, Papa," Canopa whispered, "I didn't want to die."

"I wish you didn't remember either," Regulus said in an equally quiet voice, "Death is not kind."

They didn't speak another word. He stroked her hair until she fell asleep in his arms and he held her there for a long time after, staring down at her sleeping face and seeing Ester in her features, traces of his brother clinging to the curve of her nose, the dip in her chin.

"Master," Kreacher murmured, "Will Bratling be alright?"

Regulus exhaled tiredly, feeling the weight of this new knowledge settle inside him painfully. The cost of his sins, he supposed, was for his precious child to remember a death that took place a lifetime ago, spilling across her memories like the blackness of a dropped inkwell, an old wound that throbbed as if fresh. The memories of his almost death haunted him in the nights where Ester's image didn't keep them at bay. The churning water, the thirst, the corpses, the burning in his lungs- they filled his dreams even now years later, safe and hidden away from the warring world.

He didn't think these new memories would be easy on Canopa, and they would continue to change her as quickly as the memory of living a past life had. But he thought of Ester's quiet determination, of that hunger to persevere no matter what, that kindness that never wavered, and knew that- yes, it may take some time, but Canopa would be alright. She was her mother's child after all and Ester was resilient.

"Yes," he answered softly, "I think she will be."

* * *

The letter sits innocently on his desk, all crisp edges and creamy parchment folded neatly inside the plain envelope. There is no hint of who its author is, no sigil on the wax sealing the envelope shut. He thinks that if he were to receive it, he would have no idea who the sender could be; therefore, it's perfect.

It's just the words written inside that give him pause, making the call for Kreacher to deliver it to the Hogwarts house elves stick to his throat. He's unsure if the message he intends to get across is the one he's sending, or if he will manage to entice Dumbledore into agreeing to his suggested deal.

Regulus sighed, rubbing his face tiredly, casting a glance at the sleeping toddler on his bed. He couldn't keep on putting this off, he had made his offer and needed to actually _send_ it, otherwise the guilt of inaction would eat at him even more than it already does. He called for Kreacher, the house-elf quickly appearing before him, nose twitching as Regulus relayed his orders of delivery but nodding in acceptance regardless.

He sat back once the elf popped away, thinking of the words he had written, wondering if they were enough to help Sirius before he was sentenced for something he would have never done. There was nothing he could do now, just wait for a response and mull over a back-up plan if this one didn't work out. Either way, Regulus wouldn't rest until he had set his brother free or at least learned the truth of that fateful night.

* * *

 ** _November 4th, 1981_**

The letter on his desk wasn't cursed, as he first thought it might be when he found it sitting there after a long meeting with the other Professors. After _another_ agonizing conference with the Minister as to why he wouldn't be handing Harry Potter over to one of the illustrious families of the Wizarding World, as if it wasn't starkly clear that the boy only mattered to Ministry for the consequences of an action he had no control over- as a figurehead that would be rotted from the inside out if he was allowed to grow up in a world that worshiped his very name.

The death of more young lives weighed heavily on him, reminded him too clearly of his failure in stopping yet _another_ Dark Lord from rising- this one right under his nose, this one very much _not_ Gellert that he had no excuse for allowing it to end up as badly as it had.

Another mistake of an old man, he supposed and held back a tired sigh.

Although, it was a relief to not have to deal with a dangerously cursed object after such a long morning, afternoon, _and_ evening. He wondered how it reached his desk to begin with, and turned his gaze on the portraits of the former Headmasters, eyes still sad and weary behind his glasses, voice somber and soft. "Dare I ask how this came to be here?"

The majority of the paintings faked sleep, one of them snoring so loudly it was impossible that the others could sleep through it. Why was it that all the former Headmasters were so difficult to speak to at times?

He comforted himself with the knowledge that he wouldn't be any better when his own time came to be displayed proudly on the walls of the Headmaster's office. He was looking forward to befuddling students with offers for lemon-drops from the magically refilling bowl on his desk from within a wooden frame. The small candy bowl was stuck to the wood with a Permanent Sticking Charm, for the convenience of the future Headmasters that would one day take over this room as their own, it wouldn't do for anything to happen to the bowl, after all.

It wasn't long before the painted image of Phineas Nigellus Black, one of his famed predecessors, scowled, lip curling back in a sneer at the traitorous display of his wall companions, the only one who had been caught off guard by Albus's silent entry into the office. It was too late for him to fake sleep, so he grimaced and turned to Albus with a dismayed sigh. "An elf brought it here. One of the Hogwarts ones. The creature was shaking the entire time, but it didn't look to be enchanted or under the Imperius. That's the extent of what I know about that letter."

"Ah," he said as if the thought of elf-based magic being used to access the heart of his office didn't come as an unpleasant surprise, one he hadn't considered before this very moment, "I see." He fixed his glasses, straightening them on his nose, waving his wand over the paper as it would give him the answers he sought. But no, there was still no sender, or crest on the wax, nor any magical signature beside the one the hummed inside the envelope- though it was nothing malevolent.

Another curious thing to think about.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?" Another of the Headmasters asked him impatiently, no longer pretending to sleep and looking between him and the letter pointedly. Her brown eyes narrowed into a glare at his amused huff, as if she wasn't among the paintings faking sleep just to get out of a conversation. Her hair still stuck up oddly on the side that wasn't covered by her hat, "Go on now, don't leave us in suspense."

Albus murmured a placating agreement and reached into one of his many drawers, extracting a pair of study dragonhide gloves. They fit a bit loosely around his wrists, and were a bit discolored from where a curse had rebounded from something he had touched, singeing the hide but turning it an odd shade of bright orange. The color clashed wonderfully with his yellow and cyan striped robes.

"Who am I to say no to you, Margo," He said and opened the letter with careful hands, feeling his eyebrows rise at the expensive parchment, at the vaguely familiar loops to the words written on the page. Vague familiarity wasn't enough to identify the sender though, so he pushed through the feeling and read the letter:

 _"Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore: I write to you today to propose a deal that will greatly benefit your efforts against the Dark Lord, who is not dead as the Ministry claims."_

His brows rose higher on his face as he read through the contents, surprise sparking through him, at the same time a fresh grief pressed down on his heart, at the same time anger ignited once more at what followed that interesting introduction.

 _"I have information I am willing to share with you about the Dark Lord and his followers, in exchange, I request a single favor. I implore that you aid Sirius Black, if not out of loyalty to the cause you both fight for, then for the information I am willing to give up for the promise of his safety."_

Could it be another Death Eater? Another follower of Tom that had slipped under his notice?

 _"Sirius has always rejected the Dark Lord and everything he stood for. I ask you to complete a thorough investigation of the crime at hand, and in exchange for Sirius's fair trial, I will grant you vital information on the Dark Lord's plans. There_ _ **is a traitor**_ _among your people, but it is not Sirius Black. Sirius's guilt is something incomprehensible to me, but if after a thorough investigation, proves to be true- then I will accept your sentencing for his crimes and grant you the information regardless."_

His blood froze at the word 'traitor,' was there another one he hadn't accounted for? Beyond Sirius, who he hadn't even imagined betraying James and Lily, someone who had passed the information of the Order to Tom's Death Eaters and had caused so many of the members of the Order to perish needlessly?

 _"Due to several reasons, I am unable to meet with you in person unless you have agreed to the terms of this deal. This letter serves as a magically binding contract, if you sign your name below, it will notify me that you have agreed and I will send another letter with information on the Dark Lord and his followers._

 _I hope you make the correct decision and to hear from you soon,_

 _R.A.B."_

Albus set the letter back down on the desk gently, as if the words would scramble away if they were treated carelessly. He blinked, slowly and a bit dazed, disregarding the nosiness of the painted Headmasters and heavily pondering what the letter had told him.

There wasn't any assurance that what it said was the truth, it could only be a ruse to buy time- for what though, he had no idea. It was still something to investigate though, he thought, especially with the promise of more information on what Tom had done to gain so much power, even more so when he had the unsettling feeling that the defeat of Voldemort at the young Harry Potter's hands was not the last of the Dark Lord.

He drew a deep breath through his nose, considering, thinking.

Then, Albus Dumbledore picked up his quill and signed his name.


End file.
